Watch for dogs? Good Lord. I turned off Oltorf, ignoring the clumps of grubby folks who gathered underneath the trees, waiting to hop on the next train. At least I assumed they were waiting for a train. Maybe they were just sipping beer in the shade. In a Texas heat wave—it was 112 degrees—all bets were off. Whatever you had to do to stay sane was all right by me. Canoeing was our Saturday pastime, but on Sundays, Jake and I filled the tub with icy water and beer and settled in. It was sort of like relaxing in a pool, I told myself, but without the risk of melanoma.
As promised, Claiborne Street ended, and I drove the Bronco along a dirt road into a ramshackle trailer park. Two large dogs ran toward my truck. One, a German shepherd, barked loudly, exposing a red mouth. Terrified, I hit the automatic locks. I pulled into the driveway next to the third trailer on the left, a tilted structure with empty window boxes. The shades were drawn, and an air-conditioning unit hung outside, humming loudly. At least they had AC, I thought. The big dogs watched me for a few minutes, then retreated.
Uneasily I opened my truck door and the heat slammed into me, a burning steamroller. It was strange to think of the beginning of the school year in Colorado, how we’d worn sweaters and jeans. In Austin, the kids wore shorts and flip-flops into December. I gasped for breath, scorching my lungs, and stood, my thighs peeling off the driver’s seat with a revolting sound. I locked the car and plodded torpidly toward Evian’s trailer.
I tapped at the metal door but there was no response. I put my hands on my knees, then stood and pounded a bit harder. The door opened, revealing a short black girl with frizzy hair spilling out of a high ponytail. She was plump, her tummy pooching out between a midriff-baring tank top and a pair of neon yellow stretch pants. “Hi,” I said. “Are you Evian?” She nodded without smiling. “I’m Alice,” I said. “Alice Conroe? Did Principal Markson tell you I’d be coming by?”
The girl nodded again, not taking her big, sad eyes off my face. Despite the AC unit, Evian’s trailer was hot, and smelled like cigarettes and corn chips. “Is your mom here?” I asked.
“She’s asleep,” said Evian.
“Oh, okay,” I said. Evian’s mother had signed the release forms allowing me to meet with Evian and take her on “afternoon outings,” but I’d figured she’d want to meet me before I spirited her daughter off. “Should we wake her?” I said. “Maybe tell her I’m here?”
Evian shook her head. “It’s fine,” she said in her queer, hoarse voice.
I nodded. The room behind Evian was dim, filled with an overstuffed orange couch and a big TV. Was this where Evian’s little brother had died, bleeding into the brown shag rug? I shook off the thought. “Okay,” I said. “Well, we can do whatever you’re in the mood for. Bowling, or a movie …?”
Evian shrugged. “I don’t care,” she said, looking down.
“I need some clothes, too,” I said. “We could hit the thrift stores. Or go boot shopping?” As soon as I spoke, I realized how stupid this sounded. Evian likely lived on government cheese and the Bugles I saw spilling out of a bag on the floor. I berated myself: boot shopping! I hadn’t even realized how privileged I was until I’d spoken. Evian wore large sneakers without laces or socks. “I feel like I’d better talk to your mom,” I blurted.
“Okay,” said Evian.
“Can you … can you wake her?”
Evian didn’t move. “She doesn’t like it if you wake her,” she said finally.
“Oh, of course!” I said, my voice as big and cheery as a circus tent.
“I can do whatever I want,” said Evian. “She doesn’t mind.” This was said with tentative pride. The whole scenario was beginning to depress me beyond measure. And then inspiration struck.
“How about we cook?” I said. “We can hit HEB down the street, then come back here and make … well, what do you like? Brownies?”
“I’m not really interested in cooking,” said Evian politely.
“Oh … okay,” I said.
“Can we go to the mall?”
“The mall?” I repeated, dumbly. I was not a fan of malls. I knew Austin had them, and I’d once been to the movies out at Gateway, but something about malls gave me the heebie-jeebies. All that recycled air, the smell of cheap fabric and pretzel bites. “Sure,” I said, recovering. “The mall! Why not? Why not the mall?”
Evian slipped past me into the driveway. I followed, unlocking the truck. When dogs ran toward us, Evian quickly clambered into the Bronco, and I did the same. “Scary animals,” I said after we’d slammed shut the doors.
“They fight them,” said Evian.
“Oh,” I said, locking the car and peering out at the dogs. Who the hell was they? “That’s sad,” I noted.
Evian shrugged. “Wow,” she said, “this car is like, vintage.”
“I like it,” I admitted. The truth was, I loved it—loved the idea of myself as someone who belonged behind the wheel of a powerful vehicle. The Bronco was a truck even my father admired. I even adored the tape deck and kept a shoebox full of tapes (Van Morrison, Willie Nelson, Wilco, Janet Jackson) between the front seats.
We pulled out of Evian’s driveway and headed toward Oltorf Street. “Are those guys waiting for the train, do you think?” I asked Evian, to make conversation. She shrugged again. “How old are you?” I tried.
“Fifteen.”
“Oh, fifteen!” I said. I could scarcely remember being fifteen, a ninth-grader at Ouray High. “How many kids are in ninth grade at Chávez?” I asked.
“Like ten thousand,” said Evian.
“What?”
“I’m joking,” said Evian. “Who knows? Anyway, we call it Johnson, even though it’s officially Chávez.” She used her fingers to put quote marks around “officially.”
“Oh, okay,” I said.
“They fired all our teachers and changed the name, but they can’t stop us calling it what we want,” said Evian. She looked at me, eyebrow lifted, challenging me to disagree.
“Right,” I said in solidarity. At a stoplight, I consulted my phone. “Now, which mall are you interested in?” I asked.
“Barton Creek,” said Evian.
“Great,” I said, getting directions. We headed toward the highway. “Do you need something specific?” I said. “Maybe some new … earrings? I could use pajamas, actually.” I smiled in her direction, deciding to treat her like a little sister. I could even buy her a pair of earrings. Or some bigger pants … or better yet, a flattering sundress!
“I’m meeting my boyfriend,” said Evian.
I was barreling down Lamar and did not know how to respond. I was certain this was not how Principal Markson wanted my afternoon with Evian to unfold. “Your boyfriend?” I said, trying to sound fun and lighthearted.
Evian picked at her nails.
“So …,” I said. “What’s his name?”
“Sam,” said Evian.
“Sam,” I said. “I don’t think I know anyone named Sam.”
Evian was silent, and the awkwardness of my words and the whole damn outing huddled between us like an ugly pet. “So Principal Markson thought it might be … um … thought it might be fun for us to hang out this year,” I said.
“Yeah,” said Evian.
Emboldened by this vague affirmation, I went on, “You could come by my restaurant after school once in a while. We could … spend time together.”
“Could you pay me?” she said, turning toward me. “Like, give me a job?”